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"Day 2. Hike from Peter Estin Hut via the Charles Peak Trail"
-- from The World Outdoors' hike description

A little more worn, a little more casual, the lot of us hit the trail the next day. (That's Alison out front; with the walking sticks is Nancy, the oldest of our group and the most amazing power walker -- she just zipped through the whole trail with barely a pause and showed us young 'uns a thing or two. More on that a bit later. So today, off we went up the same trail Alison and I blazed the day before, turning left and ascending past the point Alison and I gave up on, and completely missing our cliffside view, so I'm glad we did that. A bit more wildlife on the way: A grouse!

We were heading to the highest point on the trip: Charles Peak, which would be the most remarkable stop on the trip, though we'd have to work to get to it.

"Hiking directly from Peter Estin Hut, our back country adventure continues when we climb a
high elevation ridgeline at 12,000 feet just below Charles Peak."

-- from The World Outdoors' hike description

Once you're up this high, abruptly the trees just give out, unable to live in the low-oxygen. It's kind of startling how one minute there's trees there, and one minute there aren't -- and the ground is covered by rocks, lichen and scrub. This isn't clear-cut, this is just how it looks.

It's still pretty hard going, but the scenery is varied and unusual, so it's easier to keep wanting to go and go and go without too much rest; plus, you know there's a spot at the top to aim for. (The whole vague "almost there" doesn't really apply once you know that.) Also, once you get up here you notice the overall silence. There's just the wind and the sounds we're making. Down in the trees there's a fairly constant sound of the branches and leaves brushing against one another, like the sound of distant, faint applause that never crescendos.

This is going to sound pathetically stupid, but all of a sudden, perhaps for the first time, I get why they're called
rocky mountains. Duh! Anyway, note the upslope, and how difficult the terrain becomes. But that's nothing because
pretty quickly....

Nevertheless, life finds a way.... I might be wrong but I think this is the columbine flower.

Life finds a way, the sequel:

And finally, the top!

Thank God for photoshopping; I had some big pit stains by the time I got up there. And it's barely 9 a.m.
And how do you know you're at the top?

I promise, it looked like that when we got there, so nobody try to fine me $250.

And the view from above, down below:

This is one of my favorite images.

We stayed up on the Peak for a while, taking a break and taking in the view. Photos can't capture it, they're a representation of reality but just like my trying to explain how difficult the climb is, it's not the same if you're not there. The size, the scope, the way all five senses are going full blast at once is tremendous. You look down into that valley (or at least I do) and start thinking about what it would be like to be down there, or to have a cabin down there, this cozy little openness amidst all of those protective trees. You don't think about the bear, or cougar or wildcat or whatever else might be down there, it just starts your imagination going and you think it's a kind of Eden.

And then we started down.

More wildlife checking us out:

And every so often these twisted, dried out trunks of trees that I couldn't help but think of as driftwood:

You get the sense of the rocks poking through the green like bone showing through skin.
Or skin through clothing, choose your less graphic notion.

This looked like a driftwood wizard to me:

Indian Paintbrush flower (below). You can't tell from these photos, but wildflowers are
everywhere; this is peak wildflower season.

"Our picnic lunch spot is unforgettable as we gaze from alpine tundra out onto a sea of snowy peaks and a tranquil mountain lake. We then meander down tree covered ridges to pristine Lake Charles. After lunch we can venture on to Mystic Island Lake or explore Lake Charles, then we head down to Fulford Campground for our shuttle back to Peter Estin hut and another relaxing panorama-filled sunset.."

-- from The World Outdoors' hike description

 

Welcome to Lake Charles, reached after a long descent through often marshy ground, passing over and around streams and creeks. One of our group slipped a bit on a rock and for the rest of the trip had to deal with a fairly bruised leg; it wouldn't be the only injury. Just about everyone in the group had some sort of health issue by the time we were done -- from those of us who discovered it was our time of the month to those with stuffed up heads to those with blisters to those with bruises. But nobody complained, that's absolutely true. Anyway, here is the Lake, and you can see how the day was beginning to cloud up. This would set a pattern for nearly every day -- towards about 3pm it would cloud up and threaten rain, thunder or even lightning, and then ... nothing, at least until the last day.

I said I would, and I didn't back down: I went swimming in the Lake here. Cold? You bet: It's alpine fed water. But not as horribly bone-chilling as I remember Squam Lake was when I took a swim one June. I stayed in a good ten minutes or so -- didn't want to go out too deep because even the shallow parts had slick, mushy bottoms and then came out to dry. Most of our group opted to go the extra four miles to Mystic Island Lake, but four of us stayed behind. In just two days we'd pretty well divided up into two groups of walkers, with some fluidity. There were Nancy (with her poles), Deborah and Alison virtually racing to get to some kind of finish line, and then there were me, Jackie and Saira taking our time in the back and trying to get a good sense of the view. We ended up calling ourselves the Sisterhood of the Hairy Legs, and tended to keep pace. The others probably were having just as good a time making fast time, but we seemed to share a common need for general quiet, and a desire to really take everything in rather than a need for speed. So the three of us stayed back along with Angelina, who because of her bruised leg, tended to bring up the rear for the rest of the trip. So all four of us opted out of the extra walk. Both guides and Rebecca left with the first group, leaving us all alone at the Lake.

We sunned on the rocks until there was no sun left, and then things started getting potentially ugly: clouds, lightning, wind, thunder. I had to wonder which was the worse plan if a thunderstorm came up for real -- being out by a large water body, being out in the open, or being in the trees. All of them sounded like things I'd heard were bad ideas. But I started putting myself in Bear Grylls/Les Stroud mode and looked around for a copse of trees we could at least hang out in if it started to pour. Hell, I brought the Leatherman for a reason, and we were out in the wilderness, so why kid ourselves? Fortunately, we didn't need shelter, because only a few drops came down and then Mark was back to lead us to the returned group, who were on the other side of the lake, waiting.

And off we went for the second half of the day's trip, or what felt like the second half. We were starting to get to know one another better by this point, or at least know each others' names better. There was one person on the trip I truly did not get along with, who was consistently loud and unamusing and really wanted the attention of the whole group no matter what went down. You can't get along with everyone, and we'd had a mild tete-a-tete earlier in the day over a minor matter, and after she made a bizarre attempt at a practical joke (telling us returned hikers that they'd seen a moose and an eagle fighting on their trip) and then bossed everyone around about what (completely crappy) music we should play on the van ride back to Peter Estin that night, I just decided: You know what? She's not on my trip any more. Probably just as immature as she was, but it was the only way I could keep from not actually throwing rocks at her later in the day. Sometimes a person just grates on you for no reason, or tiny reasons, and you can't do a thing about it. I'm sure she found me just as obnoxious as I did her. So, no holiday cards exchanged there. (Based on later reactions from the others, I sensed she'd alienated more than just me by the time we all waved goodbye at the Evergreen Lodge, so I felt vindicated.)

There aren't a lot of photos from this second half of the day, because it was almost entirely deep woods, and descent, and rocky. I was deathly afraid my knees weren't going to do well (they're weakish at the best of times) and I tried to walk sideways, to lessen the impact, but that made it worse. I have in my notes that the 2,000' of descent was "hellish," and I seem to now recall that it was. The notes also say: "I did some of it in a sleepwalk; I was tired, I was tired of stubbing toes, I was annoyed by everyone and everything and now that we were in the old-growth dense forest there wasn't much to see and so even the forest annoyed me. I was cranky and done."

But again, no hissy fits, just do it and get it done. The closest I came to being verbally cranky was when Mark asked how we were all doing and I just firmly said, "I'm very tired." Writing this now I see that I did pick up tidbits here and there about where I was and some information about the plantlife, but at the time -- and still today, really -- I feel like our guides were lacking. This was Eric's first trip on this trail in this direction (he'd gone in the opposite direction on a multi-sport trip once), Rebecca was an intern, and Mark wasn't all that familiar with the trail, either. If you wanted to know stuff, you had to ask and ask. I couldn't understand why WO gave us people who can show us the way and can cook food but don't really inform us about much. Not that I want the constant patter of a bus tour -- God, that's horrendous -- but when we stop as a group for gorp or water or rest, some information about our area should be part of the guide.

When we got back to the cabin (the bus took us along the rocky road back to the hut) I tried to nap. We got tilapia for dinner, and s'mores for dessert. I wasn't really very hungry -- they fed us often and much -- but it was delicious.